Suddenly, I’m hyperaware of my tank top and pajama bottoms, wishing I were wearing something cuter. Newer. Less…
Basic.
“How ya doin’?” he begins, putting a hand behind his head.
I wonder if he’s actively trying to ruin my life. He lifts his arm, biceps contracting with the motion.
Drool threatens to trickle down the corner of my mouth.
“I’m good—how are you?” I resist the urge to roll my eyes at my own comment.I’m good, how are you?Ugh! That’s the best I can come up with? I want to pull the covers over my head and disappear.
But Easton doesn’t seem to mind. He adjusts his position on his bed, biceps flexing again in the process—not that I notice or anything.
“Good.” He pauses, rubbing his jaw like he’s considering something. “I was just thinking…”
About the kiss?
About me?
About prom? Maybe this is the moment—maybe he’s going to ask me to be his date now, instead of later.
My stomach does an actual somersault, and I hold my breath, waiting, internally begging him to finish that sentence in a way that will not send me spiraling into an overanalyzing mess.
Instead, he says, “Are we almost done with the decorations?”
Oh.
I blink. Why is he asking me this? He’s literally seen our progress with his own two blue eyes. He knows how much work is left to complete the knights.
This a question he could have texted.
But he didn’t.
He FaceTimed me.
Which means he wanted to see my face. Hear my voice. Right? That’s a good sign? Itmustbe a good sign.
I force my brain to chill out and answer casually. “Almost done. Just a few more things for us to finish.”
He knows this.
Easton nods. “I was wondering how many afternoons I have to spend covered in glitter.” He laughs.
“You don’t love being covered in glitter?” I suppress a flirty giggle. “Gee, I wonder why.”
He tilts his head, presenting me with the side of his thick neck. “I actually don’t.” He laughs. “The other things aren’t so bad.”
My breath catches. Other things?
What other things?
The memory of his lips assails me: his hands gripping my waist, the way he breathed against my neck—
“You said ‘the other things aren’t so bad.’ ” I gently nudge his train of thought along. “What other things?”
I realize I sound thirsty. He studies me through the phone, staring at me with those unreadable blue eyes.
My breath gets caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat.
